


Dappervolk

by Zilentdreamer



Series: Three Word Prompts [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilentdreamer/pseuds/Zilentdreamer
Summary: I have a thread on Dappervolk where people will post three word prompts and these are the short stories/snippets I came up with in response.
Series: Three Word Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845937





	1. Patient, Fog, Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Malthenys

Lene doesn’t look over when the door is pushed open, instead keeping her gaze focused on the barred window and the slowly fading light. From the golden orange colors she can see beyond the trees she guesses it is an hour out from sundown. Not long before the night’s chill starts to creep through the walls and another long night of fraught dreams and little sleep begins.

“Here is your dinner.” 

Arms looped around her bent knees, Lene watches out of the corner of her eye as the soldier hesitates about where to put the bowl he is carrying. There is no table or chair, just the narrow cot that she is sitting on. Finally, mouth pressed into a thin line, he carefully places it on the far side of the cot as far from her as he can get without it falling off. Lene isn’t sure if he is keeping his distance out of fear of her or simply not wanting to encroach in her space considering her situation. Either way she appreciates it.

Her appreciation fades when instead of turning around and walking back out the door, the soldier shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nerving himself up to ask her a question. Staring resolutely at the window and the now faded purple and pink slivers of the sky Lene sends up a prayer to all the gods she can remember that the soldier decides to hold his tongue and walk back out.

“Is it true?”

Clearly she didn’t remember enough gods, or hadn’t prayed to the right one. In spite of knowing she is making a mistake, Lene glances at the soldier and arches her brow in a silent question. It pulls on the cut above her eye but while she is curious to see where this is leading, she isn’t going to waste actual breath on the man.

Seeming taken aback that he has garnered an actual response from her, it takes the soldier a moment to elaborate. “That you set the monster free.”

Maybe the gods had heard her and they had decided to punish her for daring to ask their favor. 

“That is why the headman threw me in here. Or so he said but to be fair he was saying a lot and I was kind of distracted so he might have added something else to the charges.”

By the time they’d dragged her to the jail Lene had been half unconscious from a beating and too desperately relieved that she’d made it in time to care about what Old Grobe was saying. Whatever came next, at least she hadn’t failed. It was a balm on the boredom of captivity, interspersed with the fear of what would become of her now. Old Grobe had made it clear that she was going to be handed over to the soldiers when they arrived, having been summoned to deal with the ‘monster’. 

Better her than Asii.

The soldier blinks at her, as if not quite sure what to make of her answer. It was better than being spat on or beaten, so Lene doesn’t immediately go back to ignoring him. She watches him and sees the moment he rallies. “Why would you do that? 

This time it is Lene’s turn to mull over her response. She doesn’t owe this soldier the whole truth, isn’t stupid enough to share it considering what has already become of her. But she does want to share a little, to try and make someone understand that as far as she was concerned it was everyone else that was crazy. 

“Everyone says I let a monster go free. But I didn’t see a monster.” Lene ignores the way the soldier’s eyes widen. “I saw someone who was alone and frightened. So I let them go.” 

It’s not a lie, but it’s certainly not the truth. The first time she’d caught a glimpse of the ‘monster’ she had been frightened and nearly killed herself trying to get away. Alone in the forest with her foot caught in a forgotten trap, the first glimpse of the dark figure moving through the trees had sent dormant instincts screaming and Lene was lucky she hadn’t torn her own foot off. But Asii had been patient and kind and hadn’t let her own fear and prejudice stop her from showing mercy. Not even to someone who should have been an enemy. 

How could Lene do any less?

The soldier shook his head, disgust warring with confusion. “The captain will speak with you in the morning. I hope for your sake you have a better answer for him.”

Lene bites her lip as he leaves, the door thumping closed behind him. She has been beaten and thrown in a cell by the same people who watched her grow up for choosing to do what was right, rather than what was easy. And yet this stranger’s disregard for her choice hurts just as much. 

If things had gone differently she might have been him. He looks only a couple of years older than her, so he must have signed up the moment he reached his majority. That’s what some of her age mates had done once they were given permission and blessings by their families. Join the King’s army and see the world. 

It had been her dream too, until she caught her foot in a trap and a legend emerged from the deep forest to show her mercy.

Leaning back, Lene rests her head against the wall behind her. She knows she made the right decision, but that doesn’t stop her from being afraid of what was going to come next.

***

Sleep continues to elude her so Lene is awake when the air develops a sudden chill, abrupt enough to make her breath catch in the back of her throat. Shivering, she slowly crawls off the cot and limps over to the small window. The few buildings she can see are a wash of shadows and moonlight. The distant trees are dark shapes against the star filled sky.

The sky is a clear spread of stars, but there is a line of fog creeping through the village. 

Seeing the vapour drifting amongst the buildings sets Lene’s heart to racing. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end and she is torn between avidly watching through the window and retreating back to her cot. A lingering memory from childhood tries to convince her that if she can pull the blanket over her head she will be safe. Not that anyone had seen fit to give her a blanket, so the impulse was easy to ignore. 

As she watches the fog slowly grows thicker until the surrounding buildings she can see are only impressions. The faint light from the lanterns framing the door to the headman’s house slowly dim until they abruptly go out. Lene clutches at the window bars hard enough that she barely notices the chill the night air has left on them. It’s cold, far colder than it should be at this time of year with Fall still in full swing and Winter only just beginning to make her presence known. 

The closer the fog gets to the jail house the more difficult it is to take a breath. She can breathe, but the air itself seems to have grown heavy and Lene can almost taste something sweet on the tip of her tongue. She can only watch as the fog creeps closer, breathing in the strange sweet air until she feels almost dizzy with it. 

She doesn’t know what to think when the fog stops just beyond the window. Swallowing hard, Lene leans up on the tips of her toes to see down onto the ground. There is nothing but loose dirt and few weeds determined to cling to life. Yet the fog has stopped, swirling and flowing a foot away from the window as if pressing up against an invisible barrier. 

Lene yelps in shock when there is a thump against the door. Scrambling back from the window she retreats to the center of the room. With no obvious weapon at hand she grabs the bowl the guard had left. She hadn’t been hungry enough to eat it before, and now hopefully it can buy her a few seconds if she manages to sling the contents into the face of whoever was trying to break in. 

With each thump and scuff on the outside of the door, Lene jumps, arms and legs shaking. She opens her mouth to call out but can’t bring herself to make a sound. Surely if it was the soldiers they would have shouted something right? Was it someone from the village who was determined to make her pay for ‘betraying’ her own kind. Was it one of the soldiers who had descended on the village to deal with the monster they had caught?

When the door slams open, Lene swallows back a scream and throws the bowl with its contents at the figure looming in the doorway. In the dark she can barely make out anything beyond a vague shape and there is a soft thud as the bowl strikes true. 

The quiet clatter of the bowl falling is the only sound Lene can hear over the frantic pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. What little moonlight manages to slip through the window is not enough to give her a good look at the intruder. 

“Did you just throw soup at me?”

Lene sucks in a breath, fear falling away so fast it leaves her dizzy. “Asii? What are you doing here?” 

“You didn’t answer the question.” With a vague gesture that Lene can barely make out in the darkness of the cell, a small ball of light flickers into being in Asii’s hand. It’s a soft, warm glow, casting shadows across the other woman’s face. 

Where before there was the shadowed impression of humanity, beneath the gentle mage light the impression is stripped away to reveal the truth. Golden eyes with a slash of black pupil stare out of a human face covered in a wash of tiny scales. Two black horns starting at Asii’s brow curve back in a twist, following the shape of her skull. The hood of her cloak is pulled up to the base of her horns, concealing the lack of hair and the ridges of flesh that Lene has seen flare out into a living hood when the naga grows frustrated.

It is a face out of tales told around the fire, stories meant to warn children of the dangers the deep wood held in its heart. Once she would have been afraid, but a chance encounter and a year long friendship leaves Lene only feeling sharp relief. 

Which quickly turns to alarm since Asii is here, in the village, just after Lene risked everything to get her out. 

“What are you doing here?” Lene hisses, stalking forward on still wobbly legs. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what the village will do to you if they catch you?”

She regrets the question when Asii’s eyes narrow. “I have a very good idea of what they will do. But you are the one who isss insssane if you think I would leave you here after what you did.” Asii takes a breath, the hiss in her words hinting at how close her temper is to the surface. “Come, the fog will keep everyone who breathesss it asssleep. But it will not lassst long.”

Turning, Asii slides back the way she came, her tail giving an irritable flick to beckon Lene after her. Lene doesn’t hesitate to follow her out, walking out of the cell without a backwards glance. She ends up stepping over one of the soldiers who is sprawled out on the floor, eyes closed and snoring softly. 

“I didn’t know you could do magic,” Lene whispers, nervous in spite of her confidence that Asii knows what she is doing. 

Asii snorts. “I can only do small things such as this.” With a twist of her wrist the light she’d created winks out. She holds out a hand before Lene can step outside the door of the jail house, where the fog twists and roils just beyond the threshold. It’s an unnecessary precaution since Lene has no intention of stepping outside. “One moment, I need to grab the ward.”

Reaching into her belt pouch, Asii pulls out a small charm. It is small and circular, as if someone took a thin white branch and twisted it together until it formed a flat disk, the slender wood spiraling into itself. Each layer is held together with neat rows of thin red string, each one tied off and forming a tail until there are dozens flowing off of the small charm. It is a symbol that Lene has been Asii wearing before as a necklace or neatly embroidered on a cloak. 

“What is that?” Lene asks. The sound of her voice sounds strange, almost distorted.

“It will keep the fog away. It would hardly be a successful rescue attempt if we got caught in our own trap.”

Lene speaks without thinking. “You shouldn’t have risked yourself like this. I barely managed to get you away the first time.”

It is difficult to see in the faded moonlight, weakened by the fog that continues to swirl just out of reach, but Lene can see the way Asii stiffens. The winding length of her snake’s tail hits the ground with a dull ‘thwap’ of sound, and Lene has only a moment to realize that she might have been better off biting her tongue when Asii grabs the front of her tunic and hauls Lene in until their noses are barely touching. 

“If you think for a moment I wasss going to leave you here to sssuffer the consssequencesss….” Asii cuts herself off and sucks in a breath. “I was always going to come for you, Lene.”

With their faces so close, Lene can see where patches of scales on Asii’s face are bent and torn. Even with a Naga’s innate magic, the other woman had not fully recovered from her time of captivity. The barely chained ferocity there is breathtaking, and humbling. Lene leans in to press their foreheads together, sharing air as Asii taught her was custom amongst her people. Lene does not possess the fangs and venom that mark the gesture as one of trust amongst the Naga, but as a defenseless human with no fangs of her own to defend herself, the trust is inherent.

“I guess we’re even,” Lene breathes. “What happens now?”

Asii breathes out and leans back. She holds up the small amulet and as she does the fog wavers and curls away. “This will protect us from the spelled fog that is keeping the village asleep.” The way she sneers the word ‘village’ hints that she was thinking of a different word. Probably ‘monster’, the irony would have been appropriate. “The safest place for you right now is my home.”

Lene blinks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I didn’t think your people trusted humans.”

Asii nods. “They do not. But they know what you did for me. You, they will welcome.” 

The thought of seeing the Naga village, given shape by Asii’s stories for the past year is almost too good to be true.

Apparently recognising Lene’s disbelief, Asii holds up the warded amulet. “As I said, I cannot craft this kind of power. It was a gift from my grandmother in order to bring you home. Will you come with me?”

Lene laughs, and if it carries with it the hint of tears they both ignore it. “I can’t imagine anywhere else I would rather be,” Lene admits. 

Asii sighs and offers her hand. “Good, it would have been difficult carrying you out of here.”

Taking the Naga’s hand and walking into the fog, Lene decides to wait until they get home before having that particular argument. 


	2. River, Ink, Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Pilot

“Have you considered that this might not be the best idea?”

Isabeau didn’t startle as the captain’s voice intruded on her contemplation of the horizon. She’d seen her striding across the deck below and had surmised she was heading for the crow’s nest. Isabeau shifted over a few meager inches to offer the captain a seat beside her. It was a tight fit between the two of them, but with the already chilled ocean wind deepening into the brutal cold of nightfall, the extra warmth was appreciated. 

“I think it's a little late for second guessing.” This conversation wasn’t a surprise and neither was Captain Riley’s timing. Isabeau’s shift in the crow’s nest was the best time to attempt a discrete conversation, seeing as how no one could attempt to sneak close enough to listen, and anyone with the ability to read lips would not be able to see them. 

It was thinking about spies and secrets that made Isabeau realize how much had changed.

“There is still time to change your mind.” Riley pointed out. She pulled her legs up to her chest, with her arms resting on bent knees. “Say the word and I can stop off at any one of the coastal ports on the way. While we stock up for supplies you can slip off the ship and none of mine will say a word.”

The kicker was, Isabeau knew that Captain Riley meant it. If Isabeau said the word, the captain would do just as she had suggested. She would let Isabeau disappear and accept the consequences her mercy and compassion would have wrought. 

If Isabeau were a different person she would accept without hesitation.

“I lost my chance to get away the moment my blood touched the sea.” Isabeau nodded at the horizon, lit up with the colors of sunset in an array of fiery oranges and reds. The ocean stretched on further than her eyes could follow, small crests of white fading in and out as the waves danced to their endless rhythms. “It might not have been on purpose, but the bargain was struck. All I can do now is learn how to live with it.”

In the rare moments she could snatch a moment to herself, life on a ship tended to make one feel crowded, Isabeau marveled at how much had been missing from her life before she tumbled head over heels into the ocean, bleeding and half concussed. 

Looking back she can see it now, the way she hadn’t felt quite right growing up in a small town surrounded by trees and plowed earth. She remembered her mother telling stories of how Isabeau used to try and follow the nearby river as far as her toddler legs could carry her. As if even then she had been looking for the sea. 

“Besides,” Isabeau said with a sigh, “We both know the odds of your ship getting across the Endless Sea in one piece is almost non-existent. If I’m on board the Mer will let us pass.”

“From what I’ve been able to gather, they are just as likely to capsize us because we have you on board.” Captain Riley suggested. Her tone wasn’t sharp, just factual.

Isabeau hesitated for a moment, staring out at the water. By now the water was ink black and the sky was fading to match with the last vestiges of color blending into red and purple. The stars had begun to peek out one by one, faint glimmers that would only grow and brighten as the sky fell further into night. 

The sun had almost completely vanished beneath the horizon, but there was just enough light to see the movements of the waves below. She searched her mind for the dark space that took root the moment her blood touched the sea, the part of her mind that echoed with the sense of endless water and crushing depths, and made a request. 

Isabeau pointed. “Look that way. What do you see?”

Captain Riley followed the direction of her gesture, where the fading sunlight and the endless line of the ocean mingled. “What am I looking….at?”

A dark shape breached the waves, spraying water in all directions as it reached for the sky before falling back in a froth of white water. Another shape followed and then another, rising and falling. 

Making a surprised noise, Captain Riley rolled onto her knees to brace her hands on the lip of the crow’s nest. “What? Are those whales? What are they doing in these waters at this time of year?” She glanced back at Isabeau. “How did you know they were there? I’ve been staring out that way and I didn’t see anything until you told me to look.”

Over and over the dark shapes breached the waters, silent at this distance but she could easily imagine the rumbling crash as they returned to the depths. Flicking a quick glance at Captain Riley’s face, Isabeau took a moment to wonder if this was the smartest decision she’d ever made. In the end, it was as she said before. She had to learn to live with the pact her ancestors created, and as long as she was on Captain Riley’s ship, it was best if the captain understood what exactly Isabeau had become. 

“Captain, those aren’t whales.”

“What do you -,” When Captain Riley turned she took one look at Isabeau’s face and froze. Isabeau kept her eyes on the dark shapes rising out of the ocean and resisted the urge to return the captain’s stare. Meeting her eyes would only make it harder. “What are they?” The captain asked, almost hesitant. As if aware that Isabeau’s answer would change things.

“When I say the Mer will let us pass, it’s because they know they won’t have a choice.” Taking a breath Isabeau gestured at the dark shapes breaching the waters, now almost obscured by the fading light. “They know better than anyone what the Kraken is capable of.”

Captain Riley bit down on what must have been a shout of alarm and twisted back towards the ocean. A few more dark shapes breached the surface, but this time instead of falling back one continued to reach higher and higher, a pillar of flesh waving over the water before falling once more beneath the surface. No more shapes breached the water and Isabeau sent a flicker of gratitude. What came back was a sense of amusement, old and vast, as if a mountain were to develop a sense of humor. 

“It’s following you,” Captain Riley said, still staring out at the water, even though the sun had faded below the horizon and night had swooped down in full. It was not the first time the captain had seen the Kraken, but she had no doubt thought the creature was returned once more to its dormant state at the bottom of the ocean. 

“Yes,” Isabeau admitted. “I am its eyes above the ocean.” She shook her head when Captain Riley looked about to start shouting. “Let me explain. The bargain my ancestor made was simple. In exchange for saving his life, he offered to let the Kraken see through his eyes and hear what he heard. All the Kraken has known is the bottom of the ocean, but it’s not a simple creature. It’s ancient and intelligent in its own way, and it wants to see what else there is. So that’s what my ancestor gave it. And with each new generation someone made the bargain anew, and so the Kraken was able to see beyond its dark world.”

Captain Riley nodded. “But eventually your family stopped coming.”

“Yes,” Isabeau said. “Something happened and the Kraken was left to the deep waters once again. So when I fell overboard during the fight with the pirates and my blood touched the sea water…” Isabeau trailed off. 

The captain sat back against the railing of the crows nest. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

“I certainly hadn’t,” Isabeau admitted. It was as if a wave had crashed over her inside her own mind, leaving her drowning in rage and longing and hunger. It was a miracle she had survived the Kraken’s arrival. 

Isabeau shook off the memories. “The point is, now that the Kraken has its connection to the surface once more it’s not willing to risk losing it again.”

Captain Riley glanced at her. “The Kraken is under my ship right now isn’t it.”

“Yes,” Isabeau said, aware that lying about that of all things was not going to help matters. “Look at it this way. You and I both know that you and your crew aren’t supposed to come back from this assignment.” Just thinking about it made Isabeau want to grind her teeth because the captain hadn’t had a choice. She knew what was at stake if she refused, but it wasn’t as if accepting the king’s order was the better option. “With me on board, the most we’ll have to worry about are the storms.”

“Say we manage the impossible,” Captain Riley said. “We cross the Endless Sea and we survive opening negotiations with the dragons, and even manage to make the return trip without suffering any convenient accidents. What do you think the king and all of his nobles are going to think of having the legendary Kraken on a leash? By then everyone else on the ship will realize what it is you can do and I won’t be able to protect you anymore.”

It wasn’t as if Isabeau hadn’t wondered that herself. But she had come to care about Captain Riley and her crew and Isabeau wouldn’t let potential ‘what if’s’ stop her from doing the right thing.

“How about we survive everything else first and then we worry about how I’m going to make a run for it.” Isabeau shrugged. “We might get lucky and die during the first storm that sweeps over us. Then both of our problems will be over.”

She didn’t need to see Captain Riley’s face to know that the older woman was rolling her eyes. 


	3. Ash, Farming, Burrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Fross

Ferah arrived in the town of Lynton just after sunrise. Night’s chill continued to linger in spite of the steady creep of sunlight through the trees on either side of the road, her horse breathing out misty clouds as she held him to a steady trot. Just beyond the main gates she could already see signs of life as the townsfolk readied for the new day. Smoke rose from the bakery’s chimney and several wagons were already being guided down the main street, setting out for the capital city. 

Hailing one of the nearby wagon drivers, Ferah slowed her horse to a stop. “Excuse me good sir, which way to Mister Haver’s farmstead?”

She saw the older man take in her heavy cloak secured with the golden crest of the Academy, and the horse with his sleek coat and tackle glimmering with spellwork. The way he hesitated once he got a good look at her face was not unexpected. “You here for the burn?” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why else a fire mage would come to this town, but that was the early morning and an appalling lack of coffee talking. Instead she offered him a bland smile. “Yes, the Academy sent me to handle Mister Haver’s request for the yearly burn. Which way to his farmstead?”

Instead of answering her question, the driver looked her over again, as if he’d already forgotten what he’d seen the first time he eyed her Academy pin. “What’s a fancy mage doing coming all the way out here to help with a burn?” 

Ferah knew exactly why she was all the way out on the outskirts of capital city territory in order to handle a basic task that the most rudimentary apprentice in fire magic could handle. She was a fire mage not from study, but from birth. At the tender age of three she had sent the entire house into a frenzy when her nurse came in to rouse Ferah from her afternoon nap, only to find her charge playing with conjured fire. Already considered a strange child due to her eerie gold eyes, the ability to call fire before she could reach the dinner table only added to the family drama. 

Twenty years later and she was a rising star amongst her peers, but there were those who looked at her strange eyes and her natural affinity for the fire she commanded and whispered of demons from legend. She was too powerful to be shunned and yet the Masters at the Academy looked at the question her existence posed and grew frustrated by the lack of answers. So there she was, answering a simple request for help because it got her out of sight and out of mind while the Masters tried to figure out what they could do with her.

Eventually they would think to ask what she would tolerate, but by then they would already have their answer.

“I was the closest fire mage,” Ferah answered instead, with another bland smile. “Which way do I need to go?”

Apparently the third time was the charm, something to remember if she had to spend a large amount of time in Lynton. The driver gestured over his shoulder back the way he’d come. “Take the main street across town and follow it past the western gate. It will be the first cluster of buildings on the left.” He hesitated for a moment before offering a wry grin. “Good luck.”

With a flick of his wrists he snapped the reins and started the double team of oxen moving once again. Ferah twisted around to watch him go with narrowed eyes, unsettled in spite of herself with the man’s last parting shot. When she’d been given the assignment she hadn’t gotten any particulars about the one to place the request, just that they were a farmer who needed assistance with the yearly burn of their fields. 

Once again lamenting the lack of coffee Ferah nudged her mount into a quick walk since anything faster was no longer possible now that she had entered the town. The slower pace gave her a chance to get a good look at the relatively small town. Lynton was small compared to other towns that bordered the edge of capital territory, but it was unique in that in spite of its size it was responsible for a large portion of the produce that made its way to the capital. 

That it was quiet was Ferah’s first impression of Lynton. Townsfolk were already making ready for the new day, but even with the bustle of wagons being loaded up and unloaded and various shopkeepers opening their doors for their early risers there was an overall lack of crushing noise that was the backbone of the capital streets. Each breath she took was clear and almost crisp, light with the scent of baking bread from the baker’s back the way she’d come, already fading the further her horse carried her. 

The quiet of Lynton was more than just silence. There was none of the frenetic energy she had learned to expect back in the capitol, with birds chirping as they danced overhead and the distant barks of a dog caught up in its own excitement. Those who are up for the morning pass her with obvious curiosity, no one bothering to conceal how strange they found her appearance in their small town. Nothing wary or aggressive, which she had been half expecting considering the wagon driver’s attitude. But thinking about it he hadn’t been rude, just overly curious. 

Which made sense if there was no mage assigned to the town. Some towns didn’t have one, but times were changing and Ferah figured that soon even a town the size of Lynton would be assigned a mage. She wasn’t exactly sure what they could be expected to do in the day to day, but it didn’t seem like a punishment the way the rest of her peers described it. 

It might be nice to see what the slower, quieter life was like. 


	4. Candle, Intricate, Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Lupinary

Camael didn’t bring the candle so he could see. Between the moonlight slipping through the windows that lined the hallway and his Shifter vision, it was as bright as midday without a cloud in the sky. The candle was so the ever present rotation of guards could see him, and not mistake him for some nefarious character sneaking into the palace to assassinate the Empress. Not that it was likely any of her enemies would try again so soon after the last foiled attempt. 

The way things stood now, it was better if the palace guards had no reason to look at him twice. Beyond the usual reasons. 

After wandering the halls for what felt like an age, but was really only a quarter hour judging from the wick of his candle Camael finally found the room he’d been looking for. It had taken some careful maneuvering in his negotiations with the palace staff to find it. Asking for an isolated room hadn’t drawn any obvious curiosity, they were too well trained for that, but his list of requirements had drawn an arched brow from the steward assigned to the left wing of the palace, which had been a victory in itself. 

The room was a small ballroom, one of the minor ones that never saw any activity except during one of the special celebrations where half the nobility were invited to the palace. It was exactly what he’d asked for; plenty of space to move around in with minimal furniture and very little chance that he would be interrupted during practice. Considering what he was going to try and attempt, it was in everyone’s interest if he weren’t startled at a crucial moment.

The left wall of the hall was one long line of heavy curtains, delicate wisps of moonlight hinting at the windows they covered. The marble floor was white threaded with silver and gold veins without any rugs or carpets to mar the gleaming expanse. The right side of the room held a line of settees with small, plush pillows in various shades of gold. Between each settee was a small side table made of polished wood that had been carved with elaborate filigree. There was not a speck of dust that Camael could see, but that was not surprising. Every room in the palace was treated as if the Empress would pass through its doors at any moment, regardless of the likelihood of whether or not she actually would. 

Walking over to the line of settees, Camael’s slippered feet made no sound on the polished marble floor. The silence of true solitude was something Camael had forgotten how to recognize. Surrounded by it now he felt unsettled. The palace at large was asleep with only those few servants or nobles whose duties kept them awake, and it left the overall energy of the place feeling subdued. All of his previous experience of the palace had left him with the assumption that it was a place that never truly slept.

It could not afford the weakness.

Camael set the candle on one of the side tables and then hesitated. He should blow the candle out if only to preserve it for later use. It was an ingrained habit to conserve all available resources and not even living in the heart of the Dar’keil Empire could change that. But there was something comforting about leaving that small flame in the vast echoing space of the empty ballroom, letting it continue to burn when common sense said to blow it out. 

Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

Slipping out of the thin cotton tunic and shoes he’d worn, he set them aside on the nearest settee. The air was cool against his bare skin but it was the sense of exposure that left the back of his neck and arms prickling. As soon as he acknowledged the unease there was a flush of warmth that spread across his scalp and down his arms and legs. His gums, fingers, and toes began to burn as his body tried to give him the weapons he needed. 

Clearly this was going to be far more of an uphill battle than Camael had originally thought. 

Several deep breaths and slow inhales made the burning itch fade. A quick glance at his fingers and toes proved that he had been successful, as well as a sweep of tongue across the edge of his teeth. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

Clad in only a pair of thin pants he assumed position in the center of the ballroom. He took a deep breath and then another because he hadn’t even started yet and his heart was already beginning to pound. Wrestling back the doubts that made his stomach twist, Camael closed his eyes and cast his mind back to Before. When it wasn’t night chilled marble from a palace beneath his feet but hard packed dirt and the crisp scent of growing things permeating the air. 

He started with the pattern dance. It wasn’t something he had to think about, having learned the steps years ago. He stepped forward and twisted to the left, swinging his arms out and around. Next he slid to the left and ducked, one hand brushing the floor as his right foot swung up and around. Gradually Camael began to relax as he let body memory carry him forward. He had been beaten and broken, reduced to a savage beast for years that had been lost to him in a haze of feral rage, but this he remembered. There was solace in the once familiar motions that carried him through the battle dance, the slow unwinding of tension as each gesture and spin felt right. 

Once he was sufficiently warmed up and had battled already riled instincts back to an even keel, or as close as he ever got to it, he started the pattern dance once again. He stepped forward and twisted to the left, and as he did he started to shift - feathers grew out amongst his hair and slid down his bare back in a slow wave melting out of his skin. As he slid to the left he stopped the shift mid motion and reeled the magic back in, pulling the feathers back beneath his skin. Or he tried to. His magic fought him, unwilling to stop now that it was already in motion. 

Feeling the change sweep over him Camael panicked. It was fire in his bones and sweet magic on his tongue. The shift was like a painful itch that had to be scratched and he didn’t want to stop, but he knew what would happen if he shifted. They wanted him to shift so they could take him apart and sell the pieces to the highest bidder; feathers and claws and blood all saturated in magic. Over and over they forced him to shift and then heal, shift and then heal, and every time he made them pay with their own blood and pain. He fought them and he fought the shift but it was never enough, he was never strong enough - 

Camael sagged to the ground and pressed his face to the cold marble floor. He couldn’t contain the growl that rumbled through his chest and throat. Instead he focused on taking deep breaths and controlling the exhale. When the panic took him it was pointless to try and clear his mind, as it had been suggested to him more than once. Instead he tried to focus on physical sensations to prove to his confused body that he was not in pain. He stretched out his fingers as wide as they would go and pressed them to the ground, imagining the chill from the floor seeping through his skin and muscle to the bone. 

He did not know how long he crouched on the unforgiving cloor, trying to beat back dark memories with will alone. When the panic finally ebbed and he could take a deep breath without feeling as if he were going to fly apart, Camael slowly sat up. It was a blow to see his own worst expectations brought to life, but there was comfort in that he had expected it. 

Camael had known going in that attempting the Shifter’s Dance was going to be an uphill battle from the start. Yet he had hoped to have overestimated how deep the trauma from his time in captivity ran. From the look of it, he might have underestimated the effects. 

He shook his head and got back to his feet. He didn’t wobble or feel lightheaded which was a good sign. Once again he took the starting position and ignored the way the vast space of the empty ballroom seemed to feel heavy all around him once again. Camael ignored it, knowing that being able to complete the full form of the Shifter’s Dance was only the first of many hurdles. Getting through it without past nightmares emerging to steal his breath and weaken his already fragile hold on feral instincts was only the first step. Doing it all while bearing the weight of hundreds of eyes was the end goal. 

It was an impossible goal but Camael had never let impossible stop him. He’d been told before that it was impossible for a Shifter to regain their sanity once they’d been turned feral. As the living proof that it was possible, Camael was determined to do the impossible once again. 

Only a Shifter fully in control of their other half and the magic they contained could perform the Shifter’s Dance. It was a complicated endeavor requiring an intricate blend of control and physical skill. As a former feral, Camael would never be able to maintain that level of control once again. Or so everyone said. 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Camael once more started to work his way through the dance pattern. He only had three months until the day of the festival and then he would be expected to perform before the Empress herself. He didn’t have any time to waste. 


	5. Howl, Grime, Blanket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Acey

Exhaustion had her looking for a suitable tree just as the moon’s light began to filter down through the treetops. It made her stomach twist to acknowledge her own weakness. After a day on the run she had been hoping to make it closer to the boundary. Yet here she was at the end of her rope and still her salvation was several days away, possibly longer if her energy continued to wane. She’d let her panic control her in the crucial beginning hours of her escape and now she was going to pay for it. If she were lucky she would get the chance to strategize once she secured a hiding place.

None of the trees she could see nearby had the heavy branches she would need in order to conceal her presence. She continued at a steady trot even as her breath began to grow ragged deep in her chest. The pinch in her side had come and gone many times already and she could feel it starting to dig in. She was nearing the end of her remaining strength and if she wasn’t careful she wouldn’t be able to climb the right tree even if she did find it.

The earlier sounds of pursuit had long since faded. Even in the midst of her panic she had managed to keep her wits about her enough to do that much. It was only a matter of time until they picked up her trail once again. If there was any chance to survive long enough to reach the border she had to start thinking smarter. 

She was close to the end of her strength when she spotted the tree that suited her needs. Large enough that it would have branches sturdy enough to hold her weight and enough leaves and surrounding trees to conceal her presence entirely once she climbed high enough. It was an old one judging from the roots that tangled and snarled together above the ground and even better the bark was rough and clearly flaking away in patches, large pieces scattered around on the ground and hanging off the tree itself in chunks. 

Of course now she had to actually climb it. Stealing a moment to catch her breath, she turned, her gaze flicking over the trees from the direction she’d come. It was a futile effort, done out of instinct and the desperate hope that maybe if she strained her eyes enough she would see something. Instead it was all darkness with brief snatches of moonlight to illuminate the trees and the broken forest floor. The forest plants were a twisting mass of grey tinged leaves and vines, fading into the darkness where the tree cover blocked the light. 

She didn’t hear anything either beyond the distant calls of night birds and the faint rustles of the local wildlife. Or what she hoped were the local wildlife. She was somewhat sure that she had outrun the trackers and that they weren’t sneaking up on her as she stood there trying to catch her breath - 

Sucking in a sharp breath she gave her head a sharp shake. Panic had not helped her in the beginning and it certainly wasn’t going to help her now. Her only chance of surviving was to get a grip, on herself and hopefully on the tree. It would be a terrible irony if she managed to get injured while trying to climb to safety. Something that Krief would no doubt find incredibly amusing before he ordered her dragged back. If he bothered dragging her back. She’d made herself enough of a nuisance lately that he might not think it was worthwhile. He might decide she was better off feeding his hounds than wasting the effort of putting up with her continued ‘willfulness’.

Remembering the expression on his face the last time they’d been face to face is enough to kindle the all too familiar fury. She bared her teeth, her hands tightening into fists before releasing. She repeated the maneuver until she was relatively confident she’d gotten her breath back. Only once she was sure she wasn’t going to let her temper get the better of her she approached the tree. Anger was just as damaging as panic if she let it rule her. Getting hurt now would spell the end of her freedom and possibly her life. She had to do this smart. 

A quick glance revealed that the bark was going to be a problem. She had no chance of climbing if she couldn’t get a decent grip. Fingers stiff from nerves and the slowly deepening cold as the last remnants of the day’s warmth finished fading, it took her several tries to unknot the blanket from around her shoulders. It had been the only thing she’d had time to snatch in the first precious moments of her escape, her mind too scrambled with panic and the sweet taste of a much longed for freedom to think beyond what was already at hand. She’d had the wherewithal to roll it up as she ran and tie it around her shoulders to keep it from snagging on any branches. She had already been leaving a trail obvious as an ox in her initial escape.

It takes several attempts to flick the blanket around the width of the tree trunk. Once she was distracted by a snapping branch and whipped around with her heart lodged in her throat, eyes searching the cloying darkness. It was a foolish endeavor but she couldn’t not look, even though rationally she knew that with the hounds tracking her she would hear their barking long before they got close enough to start snapping twigs. Unless Krief’s men were clever enough to move without the dogs and had tracked her passage - 

Battling back the panic and the nausea that it sent twisting through her belly was a waste of time she couldn’t spare. Reaching once again for the fury that had sustained her for the past year she flicked the blanket around the tree trunk. She failed to catch it and bit her lip to hold back the panic that tried to surge back. After another deep breath she flicked the blanket again and only scrabbling her fingers over the rough bark let her catch it. Fingers aching from small scratches and tiny pieces wedged under her nails, she gripped the blanket until her knuckles flared white beneath the layers of grime that her time in Krief’s dungeon had left her with.

It was an awkward endeavor to wrap the blanket around her wrists with the fabric being bulky and coarse. She managed one turn and decided it would have to be enough since she had already wasted too much time. Pulling on the blanket she levered first one leg and then the other up. Her first attempt immediately failed and she paid for it by slamming her shin down on an upraised root. She swallowed her cry of pain until she thought she might gag on it. Bile filled her mouth but she couldn’t afford to spit, not when the hounds were combing the forest for any scent of her. 

After several more failed tries that at least didn’t end with any particularly painful consequences she came up with the strategy that left her clinging to the trunk of the tree with her knees. She couldn’t handle it if she tried to ‘walk’ up the trunk with the blanket holding her in place, but she could use her knees and elbows to inch her way up. The blanket served as a good place holder when she had to stop and catch her breath, which happened after every push. Her arms and legs were on fire by the time she reached the middle of the tree and when she chanced a look up the branches might as well have been miles away. 

Every breath dragged against the back of her throat and she couldn’t stop thinking about how tired she was. The course trousers were slight protection for the tender skin of her legs and inner thighs but she had no such protection for her arms. They stung and burned where the rough bark had chafed at the thin skin and each time she managed to haul herself up it only got worse. Even her face stung from a moment when she almost slipped down and ended up clutching at the trunk with arms and legs, her cheek scraping against the crackling bark in a teeth gritting rasp of pain.

Each aching pull up left pain raking through her arms and legs and soon she had to fight just as hard not to let go and fall back to the forest floor. Frustrated tears clouded her vision and she couldn’t afford to wipe them away. Finally she reached the first branch and she had a moment of panic trying to figure out how she was going to grab it without losing her tenuous grip on the tree trunk. She could hear the ominous scrape and crackle of the loose bark slipping where she pressed against it.

Eventually she decided to keep climbing as high as she could until the branches made it impossible for her to use the blanket or she couldn’t maneuver around them. Trying to let go to haul her body onto a branch from a hanging position wasn’t going to work. She was almost out of strength and it would only end in her plummeting back to the ground and getting hurt bad enough that running was out of the question. 

She only managed a few more desperate hitches up before she realized she could go no further. Luckily she was at least high enough that she only had to release one side of the blanket and hook her entire arm over the closest branch. She took a moment to catch her breath now that her entire weight wasn’t hanging off her arms with only slight support from her legs. She trembled all over from the exertion and she understood that if she didn’t find a suitable spot soon she wasn’t going to be able to move at all. 

Taking a deep breath she braced one foot against the trunk and swung her left leg up so she could brace her foot on another branch. It was a struggle to maneuver and keep one hand clenched around the blanket but letting it fall wasn’t an option. Not only would she freeze without its warmth but she couldn’t afford to climb down to go after it. She wouldn’t be able to make that climb again. 

When she was able to get a seat on a branch she spared a moment to catch her breath. The breath continued to drag against the back of her throat and every breath made her chest ache deep inside. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d exerted so much effort in such a short period of time. It was a blessing and a curse that she wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d spend in her cell. 

Common sense got her moving when exhaustion would have had her stay in the lowest branches. At least climbing the branches was much easier than climbing the expanse of the tree trunk. Getting down was going to a nightmare but that was something she didn’t have to worry about until after she’d gotten some sleep. Her luck held when she found a large branch that was bracketed by two smaller ones on each side, making the perfect seat that would hopefully keep her from falling and let her be comfortable enough to actually sleep. Before her life had taken a turn for the stuff of nightmares she would never have been able to fall asleep in a tree but now her bar for comfort was broken beyond repair. 

Sleeping in a tree was much better than sleeping on a bare cot in Krief’s dungeon. 

It took some maneuvering but she managed to have the blanket tucked under her chin and draped over her knees with just enough bunched underneath her to offer some cushion. It would keep her backside from aching and serve to hold the blanket in place if she thrashed. It took some fidgeting to get as comfortable as was possible considering she was in a tree at night, but once she felt comfortable enough she finally relaxed. It almost hurt and it drove home how exhausted she was. She ached from head to toe and her arms were one solid throb of pain where the bark scraped and cut. 

She knew she needed to come up with a more solid plan than ‘make for the border as fast as possible while avoiding capture’ but now that she had stopped moving it was proving difficult to stay awake. She wasn’t exactly warm, the night air with the start of winter’s chill was too sharp for that, but the blanket did blunt it just enough. With exhaustion dragging her down with real intent she leaned against one of the branches keeping her in place and decided that she would try to sleep now and maybe once she snatched a few hours of rest she would be able to come up with a better idea. 

A distant howl shattered the placid silence of the forest and her eyes shot open, suddenly wide awake. Sitting up she cocked her head and held her breath as the sound slowly faded into the trees. The echoes had just finished fading when another howl split the night, followed by another and then another. They sliced through the night air and curled through the trees, wordless songs of the hunt that lifted up towards the moon. 

Heart pounding she settled back against the tree trunk, nervously tucking the blanket closer to block out more of the chill. The wolves were a blessing since Krief and his trackers would have to bring the dogs back to the castle. As good as his hounds were they didn’t stand a chance against the wolves that roamed the area. She remembered the stories; fey beasts that roamed the deepest woods with bright human eyes staring out of a wolf’s face. No traps had ever managed to catch one and any hunter that tried to leave poisoned meant found it untouched.

With the distant howls continuing to echo through the forest she slowly put her head back down. All she could do was sleep and in the morning she would try to come up with a plan. Either way, if it came down to it she would much rather face the wolves than Krief. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Alenachi
> 
> *This piece is technically a sequel to "Brood, Toxic, Chaos" in my Flightrising Three Word Prompts.*

Elane was in the middle of cleaning out Nightingale’s enclosure when she heard the wyvern give a soft rumble, a few notches beneath what could be considered a growl. Taking a break from raking the enclosure floor, Elane turned to where the wyvern had been in the middle of dragging the fresh hay and long grass Elane had brought into a suitable nest bed. The wyvern was curled up in her new bed, having shaped the walls of her nest with the hay and padding the inside with the soft grass. The fresh long grass filled the air with a sweet scent, just shy of tart that was infinitely preferable to the acrid stench of wyvern dung.

That Nightingale was curled up instead of angrily stalking back and forth in front of the cage door told Elane all she needed to know.

“Did you need something, Ser Adrian?” Elane asked as she resumed raking up the soiled straw. 

The silence stretched until she heard the man clear his throat and step up to the cage door. “How did you know it was me?”

Turned away as she was Elane didn’t bother to stifle her grin. Glancing at Nightingale she was rewarded with the wyvern’s slow blink, completely unconcerned with the Rider outside her enclosure. “While I would like to take credit, I’m afraid I must admit that Nightingale told me,” Elane said over her shoulder. 

“Considering you’ve already managed to achieve what I once considered impossible, I wouldn’t put it past you to actually be able to talk with Nightingale.”

Elane rolled her eyes. Honestly, Ser Adrian’s continued awe of her relationship with Nightingale was making her incredibly concerned about the overall standards of wyvern husbandry amongst the royal corps. “Now you are being foolish. I know for a fact that you would not have gotten where you are today if you didn’t learn how to read wyvern body language and social cues.” He would have ended up booted from the corps or relegated to a hostler position if he was lucky; and if he were unlucky he wouldn’t have survived the training.

Wyverns were savage predators and Elane made sure to never forget that no matter how much the Royal Corps liked to preach mastery of your wyvern as the ultimate pinnacle of success. She followed the lessons her grandmother had taught her and they had served her well so far, enough to bring a feral wyvern back from the edge when others would have thought her beyond help. Yet even predators were not savage unnecessarily and they could be dealt with as long as one knew how to speak their language. Elane had been taught how to interact with wyverns since she was old enough to carry a bucket of scraps out to the nestling enclosure.

Turning around she folded her hands together over the end of the rake handle, bracing one foot on the thick metal where all the tines joined together. “I knew you were there because Nightingale rumbled a greeting. She didn’t snarl or growl. She didn’t even get up from her nest.” Elane indicated Nightingale’s curled body and relaxed manner with a nod of her head. “She let me know someone was here and she told me who it was when she stayed in her nest.” Elane smiled at the expression that bloomed across Ser Adrian’s face. “She likes you.”

Ser Adrian’s eyebrow flicked up, followed by a slight frown. He stepped closer to the bars so he was close enough to reach out to touch them but kept his hands behind his back. “I can’t imagine why she would. Considering how she was treated in my company.”

It took Elane a couple moments to realize that he wasn’t actually joking. Suddenly feeling wrong-footed she rested her chin on her entwined hands as she considered what to say in response. She settled on the blunt truth. “I’m not going to say there was nothing you could have done to help her, but her being feral wasn’t your fault.” 

She glanced at Nightingale again. It would take some time before the reality of their reunion fully sank in. Elane wasn’t reckless enough to try to sleep in the enclosure with the wyvern, but she had sacked out in the nearest supply room with one of her blankets. Bundles of hay made a somewhat comfortable resting place as long as she was able to ignore the way it tickled any bits of bare skin it touched.

“Our separation was traumatic on both sides. Nightingale fought to stay with me and I didn’t know how to calm her since I was panicking too.” Elane made a point of not thinking about that day if she could help it. It hurt too much and not even being reunited had been enough to heal the wound in her heart that had been left behind. “We were very close.”

When she looked back at Ser Adrian he was considering her with a slight smile. “You know I think you and Nightingale have a lot to teach the Royal Corps.”

“That’s assuming they actually listen,” Elane pointed out. Deciding she had put it off for long enough she resumed raking up the soiled straw into neat piles she could then shovel into the nearby wheelbarrow. “Having seen you and Cladius I’m assuming someone somewhere knew what they were doing when they trained you, but considering what I’ve seen while working in Blackrock as a hostler, I’m not expecting much.”

“Yet you still agreed to come back to the Royal Corps with my unit.”

“Of course. It was my goal in life to become a Rider but once Nightingale was seized from our farm I knew I couldn’t do it without her. So I figured I might as well keep working with wyverns since I’d already learned how to do it. Now that I’ve found her again I can try to be a Rider.”

Setting aside the rake she grabbed the shovel she had leaned against the closest wall and started shoveling the piles of straw into the wheelbarrow. 

Ser Adrian cleared his throat. “Is it normal practice here to clean the wyvern enclosures with them still inside?”

Elane snorted. “Of course not. Nightingale has known me since she hatched so she won’t get aggressive as long as I mind my manners. Trying to move her out of the enclosure when I can clean it well enough with her in it will just get her riled up which is the last thing anyone wants right now.” 

Once the wheelbarrow was full she placed both the rake and shovel inside with the handles sticking out on either side of her. When she started pushing it towards the door Ser Adrian unlatched the cage door for her and swung it open just wide enough to let her pass through the wheelbarrow. The cage shut with a chime of metal on metal. “I’ll be right back,” she said, looking at Nightingale who was still curled up in her nest but looked more intent now that Elane had left the enclosure. “Still need to put that salve on your nose for the burns.”

“Do you want me to push that? It looks kind of heavy.” Ser Adrian asked when she picked up the end of the wheelbarrow again.

He met her look askance with enough genuine intent that Elane handed the wheelbarrow handles over with a shrug. “I won’t say no to some help.” 

Ser Adrian handled the weight of the wheelbarrow with ease and followed her directions without complaint as she guided them towards the room where the dung covered straw was packed into barrels. She wondered what Blackrock did with the barrels once they were shipped out for disposal. Her grandmother’s farm had sold the wyvern dung to any local practitioners as ingredients for their wyvern repellant brews, where they melted it all down into a noxious sludge that was only a tad more disgusting to wyverns than it was to people. She also sold to the local farmers that needed to schedule a field burn on their land. Their area hadn’t had a local fire mage who was trained to handle it themselves so the farmers had to go about it the old fashioned route, and wyvern dung had proven very flammable. 

Maybe they sold it to suppliers for local weapons manufacturing? Something to look into if she still remembered to be curious about it later. Ser Adrian helped her shovel it all into a few barrels and marked them as ready to be sealed by those responsible for loading it all up for the next shipment out. Once they were done they returned the wheelbarrow and shovel and rake to the equipment storage room.

“Do you mind if I watch you apply the salve?” Ser Adrian asked, breaking the quiet camaraderie they had fallen into as they worked.

Elane gave him a mildly incredulous look. “I don’t have any problem with it but I’m not sure why you want to.” She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you technically my superior since you are a fully fledged Rider and I’m just a potential trainee? You don’t have to ask to watch.”

Ser Adrian huffed. “I suppose that is true if you choose to look at it a certain way. But until you are accepted into the Royal Corps I have no authority over you.” He shrugged when she stared at him. “I want to watch because I’m pretty sure you’ve forgotten more things about dealing with wyverns than I ever learned to start with and I want to make sure I’m treating Claudius right.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score,” was Elane’s tart response. “Claudius could have only been more smitten with you if you were holding a dead rat.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Moonrise
> 
> *This takes place in the same universe as "Candle, Intricate, Trust"*

“The Empress has requested that you be present when she holds court this afternoon.”

Camael froze in the act of taking a bite out of the strange fruit that had caught his eye. It had been the only thing that looked remotely appetizing from the spread the servants had laid out for Seyonne’s breakfast. He thought it might be called a persimmon but he wasn’t completely sure. Camael thought he might have eaten one before and had been curious enough to check and see if he could remember. 

Appetite vanishing alongside the positive turn his mood had taken upon waking up later than his usual, Camael placed the maybe-a-persimmon back in the fruit bowl. He leaned back in his chair and leveled Seyonne with a flat stare, his arms automatically crossing over his chest in a blatant defensive gesture. It was pointless to try and stifle it. Seyonne already knew he was going to be uncomfortable the moment he made his declaration. Which was probably why he had brought it up once the servants had finished laying out the food and made their discrete exit. 

Already fed up with the day and it had barely started, Camael glared. “Why do you say she requests my presence when we both know it's a command? Why not just say it like it is from the start?”

Seyonne filled his plate with a few cuts of meat and one of the soft pastries that smelled like salt and butter. He reached out and plucked up the persimmon-thing that Camael had put back and Camael refused to be annoyed about it. “I’m simply giving you the context in which she made her opinion clear. We had an audience and she did not make it a blatant command. Yes, it is a command, but it is veiled enough that when you oblige her, those who are aware of your...disregard for the way of things will understand that you came of your own free will.”

“Am I going of my own free will?” Camael asked with a smile that was merely a parody of the true thing. It was always satisfying in a visceral sense to bare his teeth at Seyonne, and after the first few times he did it without being punished it had occurred to him that the noble might enjoy it as well, since he seemed to go out of his way so often to make Camael do it. He was never quite sure what Seyonne was thinking. The only thing he knew for sure was that Seyonne usually had a handful of reasons for any one thing he did.

It was frustrating as much as it was reassuring. After so long considering the man an enemy, it was something else to realize that he was an ally. Even if he was a frustrating one that Camael wanted to push out of a high window more often than not.

As if reading the direction of Camael’s thoughts, Seyonne offered a slight grin. “I would certainly advise against disappointing Her Imperial Majesty. More than you already have.” Taking up the persimmon-thing Seyonne picked up one of the knives and quartered it in a few quick strokes. He proceeded to slice each of the quarters down until the plate was full of neat slices, all of them the same size.

Camael watched without truly paying attention, making a passing note of the sweet scent that emanated from the fruit’s tender flesh. He struggled with the question that sat heavy on his tongue. It was instinctive to conceal weakness; as a shifter it was as natural as breathing to project strength at all times, and his training cemented his innate belief that he couldn’t afford to be weak. Going feral had only compounded his instincts in that regard and the understanding he and Seyonne had come to was still too recent for him to trust it implicitly. 

Seyonne had proven instrumental in Camael regaining his sanity, but Camael didn’t believe for a moment that the noble had done it with Camael’s well-being in mind. Seyonne was a noble, one of the most powerful in the kingdom due to his blood ties to the Empress; and he was a Darkele. One of the long-lived races that concocted plots within plots and generally treated intrigue as one of their favorite weapons. It would be the height of foolishness to trust Seyonne implicitly, and in fact Camael had been warned against it by the man himself. 

He knew he couldn’t trust Seyonne, but instincts gone rampant due to the past year as a feral insisted that if there was anyone he could trust it was Seyonne. 

Camael took a steadying breath and noted the way Seyonne was deliberately not looking at him, instead focusing on his breakfast. It took him a few moments to decide how he was going to ask. “Did her Imperial Majesty choose to explain what I had done to earn such an honor?”

The gleam of approval in Seyonne’s gold eyes was not satisfying in the least.

“Very good. Choosing how to say something can be the difference in receiving the answer you want,” Seyonne said. When his gaze grew contemplative as he looked at Camael across the table, Camael seriously considered abandoning his seat at the table and going for a long flight. Possibly for the rest of the night and maybe even beyond the palace walls. “She didn’t say why she wanted you there, not in so many words. But I believe I know why she made the request.”

The feathers in Camael’s hair reacted to his unease by trying to fluff up and he clenched both hands around the edge of his seat rather than try to smooth them down. He was a shifter and no matter how often Seyonne tried to teach him how to control his emotional responses Camael knew a losing battle when he saw one. Once he had been capable of the delicate skill needed to control it, but not anymore. Maybe never again. It was just one more hurdle he would have to get over in his path to recovery.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Camael asked. It was pointless to be frustrated but knowing that didn’t stop the growl from bubbling up the back of his throat. 

The look Seyonne leveled at him made the growl deepen into the beginnings of a snarl before Camael cut it off. “I need you to understand, I do not know for sure what Her Imperial Majesty has planned. Only what I can discern from the rumors I’ve heard among the court and my own sources. What I do know is you're being ignorant of Her Imperial Majesty’s intentions is an important part of it.”

Of course it was. Gods forbid Camael be allowed to understand or give permission for what was needed of him. It shouldn’t be a surprise but it still managed to irritate him. Darkele liked to play games, and he was just one more fool for Seyonne to twine around his finger and make dance to his tune. 

“Camael.” Hearing Seyonne say his name made his chest feel too tight and the urge to destroy something rose up until it was a struggle to keep from letting the burn at his fingertips slide into actual claws. When he looked at Seyonne the other man was watching him without a hint of irritation or anger. His bright gold eyes were level without being sympathetic. “If I thought you were capable of the subterfuge needed to go into this without tipping off the rest of the court I would tell you. However you cannot lie as you are and when you are surprised by something, it is obvious from the first glance.”

It was disconcerting to hear Seyonne echo Camael’s line of thinking, but worse was the way hearing the other man explain made some of Camael’s fury slip away. He was right as much as it galled Camael to admit it. Every thought that crossed his face was obvious in his expression or in the myriad of ways his body chose to reflect it. From shifting to body posture to the various growls and snarls that came without thought. 

He was constantly exposed and hated every moment of it. Now Seyonne, and by extension the Empress, was asking him to step in front of the whole court and make a show of his reaction. He didn’t need to be a Darkele to know that whatever his reaction was going to be, it was going to be dramatic even by the bar he had set due to previous...surprises. 

“I won’t promise that it will be an enjoyable experience for you. I can promise that you will be by my side the entire time, and that you will be safe.” 

Camael snorted. “You and I have vastly different ideas on what we consider to be safe.”

Seyonne’s sigh was quiet and clearly put-upon, which surprisingly inspired no sympathy from Camael. “I believe that you will benefit from Her Imperial Majesty’s plan in the long run. If events transpire to take a path that I believe will prove more harmful than good I am more than capable of setting them right.”

It took Camael a few moments to parse what Seyonne was saying. “Are you saying you’ll mess with your sister’s plans for me if you decide you don’t like what she’s trying to do?” 

The expression that darted across Seyonne’s face could almost be described as pained. “I suppose I am.” He picked up the small plate of persimmon-thing slices and offered it to Camael. “So will you be attending court per Her Imperial Majesty’s request?”

Camael sat frozen, eyes darting between the small plate and Seyonne’s intent expression. He knew that Seyonne knew how shifter’s reacted to sharing food with one another, and he didn’t know how he felt about Seyonne making such a blatant offer. Camael was under no illusions that he was under Seyonne’s protection. He wouldn’t last a day in the palace without it, but having Seyonne offer food after making a rather blatant offer of protection, from the Empress herself no less, was unsettling. 

It meant something that Seyonne chose to offer food now and it would mean something if Camael accepted it.

After hesitating just shy of accepting the plate, Camael carefully took it. “Yes, I would be honored to appear before Her Imperial Majesty. I trust you will keep me from making a complete embarrassment of myself.”

Seyonne’s chuckle was completely uncalled for. Also the persimmon-thing was apparently delicious. 


End file.
